


Nap Time

by igrockspock



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: Tony forces Pepper to take a nap.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Nap Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassySnowperson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/gifts).



Tony flings open the doors to her office -- both of them, at once, because _of course_ he has to make an entrance -- and says, “You need a nap.”

“I’m a Fortune 500 CEO, not a toddler,” Pepper says, barely bothering to glance up from her computer. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Toddlers aren’t the only ones who need naps,” Tony says, stationing himself by her desk. 

“Didn’t we get past this phase of our relationship?” she asks, still trying to avoid eye contact. Tony thinks eye contact is permission to speak.

“What phase?” He jiggles on the balls of his feet, overflowing with energy, as always.

“The phase where you make unreasonable requests and refuse to go away.”

“Bad news, that’s my personality,” Tony says, tugging gently on her arm. “Pepper? Pep, c’mon, look at me. You _need_ a nap.”

Now she _has_ to look at him if she wants her arm back, which she does, very much. She needs the arm for typing, dialing the telephone, all sorts of important office things.

“Tony,” she says, keeping her voice careful and level, “I don’t take naps in the middle of the workday. _You_ take naps in the middle of the workday.”

Okay, maybe not so level after all.

Tony, unruffled, says, “Untrue. As you know, I prefer seventy-two hour benders fueled only by energy drinks --”

“Purple Drank should be illegal,” she breaks in. “I wrote to the FDA.”

“I know. I don’t appreciate that.”

“Your liver does.”

Pepper realizes, much to her annoyance, that Tony’s used their banter as a front to drag her to the couch at the corner of her office.

“Now take off your shoes,” he says.

“Why would I take off my shoes?” She looks down at her Louboutins. They’re from the Iriza series, 100 mm, very classy. “I love these shoes.”

“Shoe removal is the first step in taking a nap.”  
Pepper sighs and takes off the shoes. With Tony, you have to pick your battles. Doing what he says makes him go away faster. And, okay, her feet _do_ hurt. She wriggles her bare toes against the soft rug, which of course, Tony doesn’t miss. He smirks, and oops, she smiles back. Just a small one though.

“Now turn around,” he says, making a little spinning motion with his finger, like she doesn’t understand how to turn in a circle.

“Okay, but there’d better not be a stripper when I turn around again,” she says. Better not to comply too easily; he’ll get suspicious.

“It’s been _years_ since I brought a stripper into the office,” Tony says.

“Mmm-hmm,” Pepper murmurs. “Remind me about Bruce’s birthday? Was that years ago? Or just five weeks?”

“Okay, fair, it’s been years since I brought a stripper to _your_ office. Really impressive that you forgave me for that, by the way. You’re a really good person.” 

He reaches for her zipper, and Pepper bats his hands away indignantly -- or tries, anyway, except he’s fast and the zipper is awkward to reach. 

“Is this a booty call?” She spins around with as much dignity as she can muster, considering her dress is sliding down to her knees. “Because I was very clear with you, I don’t have sex in the office during business hours. It’s rude to my assistant, and frankly, unprofessional.”

Tony holds her hand so she can step out of the dress without falling. “Just a nap. No sex. Not with _those_ underwear,” he says, eying her nude granny panties. “Did I miss a birthday somewhere? Why is my wife walking around like a seventy-year-old nursing home resident?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Because your wife is not trying to seduce you. Your wife is trying to stay comfortable, working in her office, in a white dress. Are _your_ underwear sexy?” She holds up a hand. “Wait, don’t answer that. And definitely don’t show me.”

“How about I show you _this_ instead?” Tony says.

“Oh god.” Pepper puts up a hand to shield her eyes. It’s not that she’s afraid of seeing Tony’s penis. In spite of her better judgment, she’d married him; it’s not an unfamiliar sight. But right now, in the middle of the workday, when she actually _is_ tired and she kind of _does_ want that nap, and if not the nap, then her scheduled conference call with Seoul --

“ _Pepper_.” Tony thrusts something into her hand. It’s soft, luxuriantly so, like she could actually just melt right into it.

“You brought me a blanket?” she asks, stupidly, because _obviously_ the thick rectangle of fabric in her is a blanket. 

Tony shrugs, like it’s no big deal to track down the softest blanket in all New York and bring it to your very tired wife who’s spent the last six weeks trying to figure out how to save a company when half the workforce spontaneously _disappears._

“Yeah, well,” he says, “You needed it.” He leans over to pull the cushions off the back of the couch, making more room for her to sleep.

“Wait,” she says, tugging Tony toward her.

“I thought we were past the resistance phase,” he says. “I won, not that it’s a contest. I am a healthy adult who knows that not everything in a relationship is a contest.”

“Halfway there. _Nothing_ in a relationship should be a contest.” She holds Tony firmly by his lapels so she can study the dark circles under his eyes. “You need a nap too.”

Tony starts to pull away, muttering about Hawk Eye going rogue, but Pepper holds firm.

“I’ve moved past denial into bargaining,” she says. “I’ll only take a nap if you do.”

She undoes his shirt slowly, button by button, while he stares at her with that confused wonderment he still gets when somebody actually takes care of him. It twists her heart every time, and she gives his hand a little extra squeeze, not that she’ll ever tell him why, because he’ll never say out loud how much he’d needed to be cared for.

When her dress is neatly folded on the table, and his clothing is in a disorganized pile on the floor, she tugs him onto the couch with her. Her head fits against his shoulder, and her fingers trace the familiar pattern of scars on his ribs. One by one, he slides the pins out of her hair. "We're a good team," she murmurs, and she falls asleep as his fingernails scrape slowly across her scalp.


End file.
